


All My Friends

by Heathlily33



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heathlily33/pseuds/Heathlily33
Summary: Before even introducing herself, the woman (“woman,” she barely looked older than Carol herself) said to be one of her managers sauntered up to her, looked down and then up and then said, “hm, you actually look cute.” A strange compliment from a strange person. “I’m Abby. I’m one of the floor managers.”This is a super-short piece that goes with my other story, Hope You Will. Not necessary to have read it, but helpful. If you haven't, good luck, it's long.
Relationships: Carol Aird/Abby Gerhard, Carol Aird/Therese Belivet
Comments: 42
Kudos: 117





	All My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for months. I wanted to post it to show that 1) I'm not dead, and, 2) I haven't abandoned you. I have another chapter coming soon - actually soon - to the story I'm currently writing.
> 
> Until then, here's this nonsense.

It had taken only four days for Carol to find a job. She’d started her hunt after her ATM receipt displayed a balance of $14.27, an explanation for why her withdrawal request had been declined three times in a row. She stood, mouth agape, and then flipped her phone open and dialed her mother's number. 

“No, Carol. I’m not giving you any more money. You get 250 dollars a month and it’s your job to make it last.”

Her dad wouldn’t budge either. 

“Did you ask your mom?”

“She said to ask you.”

As if that had ever happened in the history of humanity. They both knew Carol was lying. He said that he wouldn’t go against her mother’s wishes just so Carol could buy alcohol. 

“It’s not for alcohol, dad!”

Not _only_ for alcohol. Some was for weed, too.

“If you want more money, get a job.”

Easier said than done. After crying outside the bank for ten minutes, Carol dashed across campus to scan the job listings posted in the student center. There wasn’t much, and Carol definitely didn’t want to work at Gristedes on the night shift.

“Pound the pavement,” her friend Jonathan said. He leaned back in his chair as they sat in the library, waiting for the computer to boot up. “You know, just take your resume and drop it off to places.”

Except Carol didn’t have a resume. Beyond working at Claire’s for six months in high school, a few babysitting gigs, and spending the summer door-knocking for John Kerry, there wasn’t much to divulge. And it seemed like everything required experience.

That was fine, too, Jonathan added. He’d help her go around and fill out applications. “Babe, I need you to have money. If you don’t then we can’t go out in the West Village and I can’t go to gay bars alone. I’ll be eaten alive.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

———

After walking into a restaurant on the Upper West Side, filling out an application, Carol was called to come back for an interview the next day. Two days later, she was hired. 

She was kind of excited, weirdly enough. Working at a restaurant made her feel like she had something on her classmates, like she was more adult. The most any of her friends did for work was scan people’s IDs at their dining hall.

At least Carol got to look cute for work, too. _That_ had been enough of a reason for her mom to give her more money. 

Standing outside of Urban Outfitters, Carol had said, “it takes money to make money, mom.” 

It paid off. 

Before even introducing herself, the woman (“woman,” she barely looked older than Carol herself) said to be one of her managers sauntered up to her, looked down and then up and then said, “hm, you actually look cute.” A strange compliment from a strange person. “I’m Abby. I’m one of the floor managers.”

“Carol.”

Abby had a bad fake smile and a bad dye job. Carol considered that maybe the latter was intentional, given the former. Too many highlights to make her attitude seem brighter. 

“You look familiar,” Abby squinted, trying to place Carol.

“Do you go to Columbia?”

Then Abby laughed, _hard._ No, she absolutely did not. 

———

“Now I know where I’ve seen you before.”

The voice coming from behind her was one she’d heard _far_ too recently.

One Saturday, after Carol had gotten out of work relatively early, she’d convinced Jonathan to go downtown with her, so they could haunt Henrietta Hudson. He didn’t mind hanging out with a bunch of lesbians as long as Carol would agree to switch off the next time they went out. So that’s what they did, and all was going well - Carol was getting the attention she craved, away from the watchful eyes of her classmates - until she heard that voice. 

Abby. 

When Carol turned around, ready to be met with suspicious eyes, she was surprised to find Abby smiling. And not the bad fake smile, but a real one. 

“This makes me like you even more than I already do,” she said, another surprise. Carol thought Abby _hated_ her. She lowered her voice and moved closer to Carol’s ear, “but if you don’t stop talking to that girl right now, I’ll be sure to let the bartender know that you’re only 20 years old and probably using your older sister’s ID.”

It startled Carol. Not that Abby was correct (she was), but that Abby cared who she was talking to. The implication wasn’t lost on Carol - she wanted Carol to talk to her. 

———

Abby was right, Carol _hadn’t_ expected whatever they were doing to go anywhere, they _were not_ dating, but it didn’t make it hurt less. It still felt like Abby was breaking up with her, in some type of way. She apologized - a lot - and admitted she should’ve thought more carefully about Carol’s feelings, considering the major experience gap between them. 

She’d met someone and her and Carol had to stop having sex, because Abby was hoping for this “someone” to go somewhere. 

Everyone at work wondered why Carol all of the sudden seemed to despise Abby, once the person she’d talk to the most. Carol would just grumble an, “I don’t,” and leave it at that. Abby was a better liar, having the upper hand and all. She chalked it up to Carol being “moody,” “she’s basically still a teenager.” 

Carol made it a point to try and find another job as soon as possible.

Once she was ready to put in her two-weeks, Abby showed up at her apartment in Harlem. 

“My friend called me and told me the funniest thing,” Abby leaned on Carol’s doorway, left open for her to let herself in while Carol pretended to ignore her. “He said that he was calling to ask about one of my hostesses - ‘Carol,’ who’d put my work down as previous experience on her resume. Obviously, I said you’re fantastic. You have a knack for hospitality.”

Carol stood still at her kitchen counter, still turned away, still trying to seem like she didn’t care. She heard Abby shut the door and the creak of the floorboards as she walked closer, cautiously. 

“I know they gave you the job. And you’re welcome to leave, if that’s what you want, but,” Abby leaned against the counter next to Carol, waiting to continue until she had Carol’s attention. “I wish you wouldn’t. If I had things my way, you’d work full-time. I’d give you a pretty hefty raise, too, which brings me to my next order of business…”

For part two, she needed Carol to sit down and listen - _really listen_ \- to her. Because it wasn’t about Abby or even Abby-and-Carol, just Carol. She’d come equipped with numbers, money Carol could make, lists of careers she could pursue in hospitality, where one path could take her. And she brought her counterpoint, too, to explore what Carol could do if she continued her degree in psychology, one Abby knew Carol was very lukewarm about. 

Carol wouldn’t quit the restaurant.

“But I want to be a server.”

Abby groaned. Good hostesses were so hard to find. 

“Abby, if I drop out of school I have to make real money.”

——— 

_2012_

“I ran out of people again. I hate this fucking app.”

Carol slid her phone across the bar top and went back to polishing glassware, letting Harge intercept it and invade her privacy. He was her manager but also her best friend at work. She’d allow him the privilege of poking around on her phone every once in awhile given that he vowed to never open her photos.

Plus, after a few more weeks, he’d no longer be her manager nor her best friend at work, he’d just be her friend that she promised to see and make plans with but would never follow through. He told Carol the day before that he was leaving, it was time to move on, on to open another restaurant. 

Harge sipped the margarita Carol had made for him and casually scrolled through her Tinder matches. “Not enough people know about this dating app, Carol. I doubt it’ll catch on. You know you could just meet people the normal way. Outside, in the real world. That’s how I met Annapurna.”

“Aww,” Carol tilted her head and smiled before pushing another glass rack into the dishwasher.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just love when elderly people reminisce.”

“You’re such an asshole. You won’t be in your twenties forever, you know? And - oh! You got a message.” 

Nearly dropping the wine glass she was polishing, Carol snatched her phone away from Harge. She’d been single for almost six months and it simply wasn’t suiting her. She needed someone, she’d decided. 

Jessica. Shared interests included Bjork, David Sedaris, and PETA. They had one mutual Facebook friend: Genevieve Cantrell. Not the biggest selling point, that was for sure. 

But still, Jessica had managed to say something other than “hey,” or, “heyyy,” or, “haha heyyyy.” She said, “where do you bartend?” Lacking creativity, sure, but she’d read Carol’s short, manageable profile. Besides, Carol hated cutesy introductions.

———

It took all of eleven exchanged messages for Carol to figure out a time and place to meet Jessica. She was _super_ hot - covered in tattoos, dark brown eyes, great teeth, and long dreads twisted and tied up on top of her head. 

She looked too cool for Carol and they met at a cool bar in a cool neighborhood and proceeded to have the worst date Carol had ever been on.

“Why was it so horrible?” Abby entered her living room, two glasses of wine in hand, and sat on her sofa while Carol stayed standing, still pacing, and handed her a glass. 

“We literally argued for two hours.”

“Sounds kind of sexy.”

“It does but - oh, this is good. Oh my god. What Chardonnay is this?” 

Abby smiled, the proud kind, and said, “it’s Grand Cru Chablis, baby, you deserve it.”

Maybe she did. Definitely did, after that date. It didn’t take long for Carol and Jessica’s back-and-forth to get snarky. Jessica went on and on about how she didn’t believe anybody truly wanted to be monogamous - she was even unconvinced of her thirty-five-years married parents - while Carol spat back that she was just wrong. Carol did. Carol was excellent at monogamy. 

“And then she told me - _proudly,_ by the way - that she voted for Ralph Nader in ‘08.”

It was eerie how soon after Carol spilled the details of their ill-fated date to Abby that Jessica called her. Maybe she was a little psychic, like she’d claimed, a claim that had sent Carol into a tailspin.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I was just being cynical because I just got out of a terrible relationship.”

Jessica wanted to hang out again. As friends. Jessica wanted to be friends with Carol. Why were lesbians like this? But Carol was no different. She told Jessica she could hang out the following Sunday. 

——— 

_2015_

October 1st was a popular day for moving. In Carol’s brand new apartment building - one with only eight units - there were two other people moving in on the same day. Three, considering one apartment contained a couple. 

She was unhappy. Less than two weeks before, her and Cynthia and gotten into The Fight. The one from which they couldn’t go back. It was clear that their work lives would never reconcile, they’d never be satisfied with the time they spent together nor the reasons for the other being absentee. So, they broke up. And at thirty-one, Carol was beginning to wonder who was left for her.

It certainly wasn’t the bright-eyed and wholesome looking woman moving into the unit below her, because, though she was cute, she introduced herself - Tessie - and then her _husband,_ David, as Carol passed them in the stairwell. 

“Where are you moving from?” Tessie was too kind and genuine, Carol thought. 

“Two blocks away. You?”

“Oh,” Tessie still smiled, and cocked her head slightly, “Denver. For work. My job, not his.”

Crossing her arms, knowing she was about to bring the conversation to a halt, Carol replied, “I broke up with my girlfriend last week.”

That was why Carol was moving. Tessie didn’t say too much else and left Carol to move in peace.

Only a few nights after, Carol was preparing to taste wine with Abby, Jessica ever-present (not tasting, just drinking) when a tentative knock sounded at Carol’s door. 

On the other side stood Tessie. 

“What’s up?” Carol leaned against her doorframe.

Tessie talked, like, a mile a minute. Her husband was back in Denver - because that’s where they were from, Denver - for a few days to get the rest of their stuff. She was bored and alone and a little nervous to be in the city, in their new home, totally on her own. Her husband was the one who encouraged her to make the journey one floor up, because Carol, “looked nice.”

She didn’t need to explain more - Carol was totally prepared to invite her in - but she just kept selling herself. It was endearing. “I have weed. From Colorado. And wine. But I left that downstairs because I didn’t know what you liked to drink.”

“Probably not whatever you have downstairs.” Carol opened her door further. “You can come in, Tessie.”

———

_2018_

Wishing she looked better wouldn’t change the fact that she simply didn’t. She probably looked like she’d just stepped off of a five hour plane ride and rushed directly to work because that’s exactly what she’d done. Carol knew the new server would be there that day, and she knew how attractive she was. She just didn’t know that Therese would be so intriguing otherwise.

Always considering herself to be clever, Carol came up with exactly nothing when Therese had told her that she might not have known Carol at all, but she did “know that.” That being that Carol could do better than Cynthia. Carol sat still, nearly a full minute after Therese was out of sight and away from her office, and considered just how wonderfully (perhaps unintentionally) flirtatious Therese had been.

Therese, her new technically-employee. Therese, now the most attractive person Carol worked with, had _ever_ worked with maybe. Therese, vibrant and young and sweet and unjaded. 

And she was flirting with Carol. Or just flirting with her manager, and it could’ve been not flirting but pandering. Either way, it was working. And Carol had a hard time not looking forward to the next time she’d get to see Therese.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the song of the same name by LCD Soundsystem.


End file.
